Cherreads

Chapter 14 - Chapter 14

The sea smelled of salt and let off a light breeze. 

Dario Kosta stood at the edge, his bare feet sinking slightly into the damp sans as each receding wave tried to claim him. The late afternoon sun painted his white hair in molten gold, making him look less like a man and more like some ancient deity who had wandered ashore from the depths. 

Behind him, Ruben and Corbin hesitated at the border where manicured lawn gave way to wild shoreline, their postures telegraphing everything Dario needed to know without turning around. 

Ruben stood with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched slightly forward as if bracing against an invisible weight. His gaze kept flickering to the horizon line where sea met sky, then dropping to the sand beneath his shoes. The boy had been quiet since they arrived in Velvenport, his usual sharp edges softened by whatever thoughts kept circling in his head. 

Corbin, by contrast, practically vibrated with restless energy. He'd been pacing the length of the private beach since they arrived, his dark eyes scanning everything, the way the light caught on the wave crests, the distant shapes of ships moving along the trade routes, even the architecture of Dario's seaside villa with its weather-beaten shutters and wraparound veranda. 

Dario smiled to himself and turned. 

"Stop looking so serious, Corbin," he called, spreading his arms wide. "This is supposed to be a vacation!" 

Ruben snorted. "We haven't taken a vacation since we started bunking with you, old man!" 

"Exactly!" Dario shot back, grin widening. "Which means when I say we're at the beach to relax, you should at least question if I'm lying." He pointed to his head while saying that. 

The villa behind them stood as a silent witness to decades of summers. Its clapboard siding had been bleached pale by salt and sun, the blue shutters faded to a soft grayish hue. A wide veranda wrapped around three sides, its wooden planks worn smooth by generations of bare feet. It looked nothing like Dario's primary estate, no marble floors or vaulted ceilings here, but it still felt like they were just in a holiday home. 

Dario crouched suddenly, pressing his palm flat against the damp sand. The grains here were finer than elsewhere along the coast, mixed with tiny flecks of mineral that caught the light just so, giving Glassreach Strand its famous shimmer. 

"You know why they call this beach Glassreach?" he asked without looking up. 

Ruben shook his head. Corbin stopped moving and also shook his head. 

"Because of this." Dario scooped up a handful of wet sand and let it trickle through his fingers. In the sunlight, it sparkled like crushed diamonds. "The mineral deposits in the sand. On clear days, when the tide goes out, the whole beach looks like it's made of glass." He stood abruptly, brushing his hands together. "But that's not why we're here." 

The shift in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. Ruben straightened strictly. Corbin took an unconscious step forward. 

Dario reached into the pockets of his linen trousers and produced three smooth black stones, each about the size of a plum. Even from a distance, the boys could see the faint golden star shaped runes carved into their surfaces. 

"An Ego," Dario began, rolling one of his stones between his fingers, "isn't something you use. It's something you are." He tossed the stones to Ruben, who caught it reflexively. "Many people fail to understand that. They think it's like a weapon or a tool, something separate from themselves." 

Another stone flew to Corbin, who snatched it from the air without blinking. 

"That's why they plateau." Dario's voice dropped, taking on a rare seriousness. "Why they never reach their full potential. They're trying to wield their power instead of becoming it." 

The ocean breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant cries of gulls and the faintest hint of music from the boardwalk in the distance several coves over. Somewhere further down the beach, Ruben could hear a group of children shrieked with laughter as they chased the retreating waves. 

Dario turned the last stone over in his hand, watching how the sunlight played across its surface. "Sensing is the same principle. It's not about seeing or hearing or any of that." He tapped his chest. "It's about knowing. In here." 

Ruben frowned down at the stone in his palm. 

Dario tossed the stone lightly, catching it with a sharp snap of his fingers. "An Ego user's presence lingers like perfume in an empty room. The stronger the user, the fainter the trace as they don't let out wasted movements. And so of course a master like me leaves nothing behind unless I want people to know." His grin was wolfish. "Phantasms though, you'll feel those like spoiled meat in your stomach. A wrongness you can't ignore." 

Ruben frowned at his own stone. "So these will help us sense…" 

With a sudden crack, all three stones exploded simultaneously in their hands. Not violently, just enough to make them flinch, leaving their palms stinging and coated in iridescent dust that shimmered like the beach sand. 

"Surprise!" Dario crowed, thoroughly enjoying their startled expressions. He laughed. "There are no crutches. No shortcuts. I want you guys to find where I've left more of my marks, you'll have to learn to feel the echoes I've left behind." He gestured broadly to the coastline. "I've hidden three objects carrying traces of my power along the stretch, nothing obvious, nothing valuable. Just things I want you to find." 

Corbin wiped the sparkling dust on his pants, scowling. "What kind of…"

"You'll know when you find them," Dario interrupted. "Some people describe it as feeling like hearing your name being called from another room but going there to see nothing." He began walking backward toward the surf, his movements were liquid and effortless. "Rules: No use of Egos. This isn't about brute force, it's about learning to listen to that quiet voice in the midst of everything else." His eyes locked on to Ruben. "Do your best." 

"You've got until sunset." He nodded toward the horizon where the sun hung like a molten coin above the water. 

"That's barely two hours." Corbin protested. 

Dario's answering grin was all teeth. "Then I suggest you start listening." 

Without ceremony, without even a visible exertion of power, he simply ceased to be there. Not a teleportation, not an illusion, just abruptly. There was a booming sound that came seconds afterwards which heated the air. 

The boys stood frozen, the only sounds were the crying gulls and the hiss of retreating waves. Then Corbin turned sharply toward the hills. "I'll take the villa and uplands." He said. "You better not slack off and text me when you find something, there might be clues on the type of things we have to find." 

Ruben nodded, already moving towards the tidal pools. As he stepped onto the wet sand, something prickled at his awareness, the lingering impression of laughter, of contained detonations, something profoundly and uniquely Dario. 

The hunt had begun. 

***

Ruben had only meant to take a shortcut through the festival grounds. The colourful banners and pulsing music had seemed harmless enough when he'd veered off course, his sneakers scuffing against the cobblestone path as he tried to reorient himself trying to find a trail. 

The scent of fried dough and spiced meats had tangled with the salt in the air, disorienting his senses further until he found himself at the starting line of an obstacle course before he even realized what was happening. 

Three other boys around his age stood poised at the markers, stretching their limbs and rolling their shoulders as the crowd around them buzzed with anticipation. Someone had slapped a competitor's band around his wrist before he could protest, and then the horn had sounded, and suddenly Ruben was moving, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. 

The first obstacle was a series of towering wooden platforms, each spaced just a little too far apart for comfort. Ruben leapt without thinking, his arms outstretched, his fingers catching the edge of the first platform as his legs swung forward, momentum carrying him up and over with a fluidity that surprised him. 

The crowd roared as he landed, but the sound was distant, muffled beneath the sudden clarity of his own breathing, the way his muscles seemed to know exactly just how much force to exert, how to shift his weight midair to compensate for the wind tugging at his clothes. The next platform was narrower, slick with sea spray, but his balance held firm, his toes gripping the edge as if he'd done this a thousand times before. 

He moved with grace. 

The next obstacle was a maze of suspended ropes, swinging erratically as the other competitors clambered through, their movements frantic and uncoordinated compared to his own. Ruben didn't hesitate. He ducked beneath one rope, twisted sideways to avoid another, and then, almost without realizing it, he flipped backward over a third, his body arcing through the air like a thrown blade. 

The crowd's cheers sharpened into something louder, more astonished, but Ruben barely heard them. His senses were alight, his hearing picked up the faint creak of the ropes before they swung towards him, his nose catching the shift in the wind that told him when to jump. It was effortless. Instinctive. Like his body had been waiting for this moment to show him what it could really do. 

The final stretch was a sprint across a series of spinning logs floating in a shallow pool. The other competitors faltered here, their feet slipping, their arms wheeling as they fought for balance. Ruben didn't slow. 

He hit the first log at a full run, his weight perfectly centered, his knees bending just enough to absorb the rotation beneath him. The next log spun faster, but it didn't matter, he was already leaping, already landing, already pushing off again before the wood could betray him. When his feet hit solid ground on the other side, the crowd erupted. 

Hands clapped. It was over. That was so much easier than it looked. Someone thrust a cold drink into his palm. A photographer snapped a picture of him, grinning and breathless, and pressed a glossy print into his hand before he could refuse. Ruben stared at it, half-dazed, his pulse still thrumming with the thrill of movement. He hadn't even been trying to win. 

And yet, he had. 

The realization should have been exhilarating. But as the noise of the crowd swelled around him, something else prickled at the back of his neck, a sensation like fingers brushing against his spine, light but deliberate. He turned, scanning the sea of faces, and that was when he saw a strange couple. 

He couldn't tell what was strange about them, other than one of their clothing. 

The two figures stood at the edge of the crowd, separate from the celebrating masses. The taller one was unmistakably a Paladin, his dress shirt crisp despite the seaside humidity, the silver stars embroidered along the cuffs catching the fading light. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way he watched Ruben, his reddish brown eyes were sharp, his expression was unreadable. A sword hung at his hip, its hilt worn from use, and for a brief, irrational moment, Ruben wondered if this man knew who he was. If he'd been waiting for him. 

But the Paladin didn't move. 

Instead, the smaller figure at his side drew Ruben's attention more. He was cloaked entirely in black, their form was eerily smooth, as if the fabric had swallowed them whole. Even whatever that thing on his head was. It was triangular in shape and had a flat top, almost like a ceremonial kind of cap students would receive upon graduation, but this one was bigger. 

When the figure turned slightly, Ruben caught a glimpse of a youthful face beneath, smooth white skin, emerald-green eyes that gleamed with an intelligence far older than their owner appeared. The contrast was unsettling. The boy, or young man, looked only a couple years older than Ruben, if he guessed then he would put him in his mid twenties. But his presence carried the weight of decades. 

And he was clapping. 

Not just clapping, but grinning a wide grin while his eyes were squinted, the expression made him seem a little older while also giving off an air of arrogance and goofiness that Dario also expressed. 

It was as if Ruben's performance had been the highlight of his day. The sight was so incongruous with the intensity of his aura that Ruben took an involuntary step back. Then, before he could decide whether to approach or flee, the crowd shifted, and the two figures were gone. 

Ruben exhaled, his grip tightening around the photograph in his hand. He needed to get out of here and find the objects. The sun was going down. 

The bakery he ducked into was a welcome reprieve from the festival's chaos. It wasn't even a major festival, it was more like a mini fair that was just passing through the city. 

The air inside the bakery was thick with the smell of sugar and yeast, the glass cases filled with pastries glazed to perfection. Ruben leaned against the counter, trying to steady his breathing, when the prickling sensation returned, this time stronger, more insistent. It was familiar. 

The baker, a round-faced man with flour dusted across his apron, paused mid-motion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Ruben. Then, without a word, he turned and rummaged beneath the counter before producing a small paper bag, its edge crimped shut with a twist of twine. 

"Here," the baker said, sliding it across the counter. "He said you'd come." 

Ruben blinked. "Who did?" 

The baker only smiled. "The man who paid for it in advance. Said he'd need something sweet." He tapped the bag. "Sea salt caramel croissants. He always gets it when he's in town." 

Ruben's stomach dropped. He didn't need to ask who "he" was anymore. The moment his fingers brushed the paper bag, he felt it, the unmistakable presence of the old man lingering. 

So he just wanted me to pick up a snack for him? 

Before he could question the baker any more, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a picture from Corbin, a garishly patterned shirt, far too wide for either of them, draped over a dry cleaning counter. The message beneath read: 

Found one. Meet me at the villa. 

Ruben snapped a quick photo of the bakery bag and sent it in reply, his fingers moving automatically even as his mind raced. Outside, the festival lights flickered to life as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the streets in a warm glow. 

He had just realized something after seeing Corbin's photo of what he had found Dario's trace though. He's just getting us to pick up his crap for him. 

He wasn't mad about it. He likes being out on his own and seeing what more there is to see. He and Corbin were still new to the world. Velvenport for the most part seemed great so far. 

And there was still so much he wanted to know about it, he was saving most of the adventure for when he became a Paladin though. 

As he was walking past an alley he looked to see a small black cat, well due to the lighting in the shade he saw its golden eyes first. 

Could it be? 

After his and Corbin's run in with Felix and Elise two years ago now they had never run into that fat tabby cat that could speak. And the amount of talking cats they had run into were few and far between. 

Ruben was interested. Even though he didn't like cats, seeing them do something so out of the ordinary just intrigued him. He didn't know if he would ever get bored of it. 

He crouched down and looked the cat in the eyes, it stared up at him. It didn't crouch down and get ready to pounce at him like many others had when he did similar. It didn't run away either. 

"Can you understand me?" He asked. 

There was no response. From what the tabby cat said as well as some online information and Dario. Cats had nine lives, it wasn't just a superstition. 

But when they respawn it could be anywhere. Each time they die they are almost adapting to the mystery and mysticism in the world which allows them to speak to certain humans. The Ego users. Those who go through a similar process of adapting to the world's mystery by coming back with a uniqueness that matches the individual. 

The cat was still silent. 

Ruben sighed. He brought up Dario's snack and was thinking of ripping a bit off to give to the cat until he heard. 

"I don't eat that garbage." 

The cat spoke. The little black cat spoke. 

Ruben smiled and crouched down to its level. 

"Why didn't you answer me when I first spoke?" he asked. 

"You're weird." It responded quickly. "Also, I was getting a read on you." 

"A read on me?" Ruben tilted his head until he felt a cracking motion and then asked. "What does that mean…?" 

"Jasper." Ruben raised his eyebrow. "Jasper is my name." 

Cool. He doesn't remember getting this far with the tabby cat. This already felt like a better start, although the last one was disturbed by nosey assholes. 

"A read in 'cat's' terms means me essentially looking at whatever sneak peaks I can get on your character and intentions. Because a cat like me who is on his eight life is just more attuned to the kind of energy people carry after experiencing death." 

"Cool." Ruben said that half-heartedly. He didn't know how potent or useful something like that could be. Also this cat being on his eight life… rough. "So what were you able to glimpse about me?" 

The cat's voice was childlike in tone but it's nature carried a certain kind of wisdom. 

"You have quite the distaste for large bodies of water." Ruben blinked at that… could it mean? "Also your death was tied to moving vehicles." 

Holy shit. 

"So was my fifth death." The cat went on. "Dreadful experience. The moron driving skidded trying to avoid me and so I didn't even die instantly. I was laying there with my crushed ribs painfully waiting to get that life over with." His tone was getting higher. "I barely even made it a year on that one." 

That did sound bad. 

At least for Ruben he didn't even feel it. It was like he blinked and he woke up in a hospital bed. 

"That sucks." He said. He stood up. He should get going now. All he wanted was to see if the cat was on his wavelength anyway. If it could speak. 

"For having a fear of such large bodies of water it makes me question why you'd show up in a beachtown." 

"I'm not scared of water." Ruben responded. He didn't know if he was annoyed at the cat or just wanted to be away from the conversation. But as he walked out the alley the cat was following, disgustingly close. 

He wanted to punt it. 

"You're not going to kick or harm me in any way." he said, "it's not in your character." 

He never liked that. People trying to get their personal read on him and then telling him what he would or wouldn't do. It felt like they were just trying to get him to act within a box and not to stray out of it or they will start to not like him. 

His dad tried doing that. 

The cat was still following him, slowly as he walked. "Why do you think I'm scared of water?" 

"You said you're not?" 

"And you said I am. I want to know what it is that you cats can see." Ruben asked back. 

"Well it's not like we can see it. It's more like just having a sense to 'know' something that is a major source of trauma in your life." 

A major source of trauma. 

It would make sense. His mom died after throwing herself off a bridge into a body of water. She carried him along with her but he didn't die. The memory was sharp, and it was something that… frightened him. 

But he never felt fear for the sea. More like fear of being in such a compromising scenario again. Weak. Snivelling and not knowing what was to come next. 

But he wasn't scared… was he? 

Ruben was walking in another direction. And with a new direction came new thoughts. 

He wanted to punt the cat into the sea. 

The thought came to him fully formed, vicious in its clarity, a brief, satisfying fantasy of watching that smug little creature go sailing through the air with a yowl, its paws pedalling uselessly before it hit the water. But even as the image played out in his mind, the cat was right. He wasn't going to harm it. He couldn't beat on a small animal, especially if it wasn't attacking him. 

The beach stretched before him, empty now except for the occasional seabird picking its way along the tide line. The water was calm, the waves rolling in with a slow, rhythmic certainly, their edges foaming white before retreating again. He stepped closer, his sneakers sinking into the wet sand, the cold seeping through the fabric. The tremor in his chest was faint but undeniable, a flutter, like a moth trapped behind his ribs. 

He wasn't scared. 

A tidepool glistened ahead of him, its surface perfectly still, a mirror carved into the earth. Ruben crouched beside it, his knees pressing into the damp sand. For a moment, he just stared. 

His reflection stared back. 

Braids coiled tight against his scalp, the intricate patterns that were woven for him as he went for a retwist just before this trip. Amber eyes, bright even in the overcast light. The silver stars in his ears, the tattoo peeking out from the left shoulder of his sleeveless top. He looked at himself. He didn't look scared. 

Then he looked up, at the sea, at the horizon where the sky met the water in an unbroken line, and then back down. 

His reflection was gone. 

In its place, something stared back. 

Slender. Its form warped beneath the surface of the tidepool as if trapped behind glass, its limbs too long, its posture too still. Cracked porcelain skin glowed faintly blue from within, the fractures webbing across its body like veins, pulsing with something that wasn't quite light. 

It had no eyes, just voids, endless and hungry, swallowing the reflection of the sky above. No mouth either, just smooth, featureless skin that rippled occasionally, as if something beneath it were trying to press through. 

"What the hell is that?" 

The thing didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe. And yet its presence was heavy, pressing down on him like a hand between his shoulder blades, like the weight of a thousand unseen eyes watching. 

He blinked, once, twice, and when his eyes opened again, the tidepool showed only his own face, wide-eyed and confused. 

Behind him, the cat yowled. 

Ruben whipped around, his heart hammering, but the cat wasn't looking at him. It was staring at the tidepool, its fur standing on end, its tail puffed to twice its size. Ruben found that grating. 

Without a sound, it turned and bolted up the beach and out of sight. 

Anything to protect the last few lives. 

***

"Moron. I shouldn't have had to come find you." Corbin hissed. 

Ruben never met him back at the villa. The sky was darker now and the air was cooler. 

"Yeah, well, this place is huge. It's easy to get lost." He could have found his way back but he also wanted to take it slow. 

He brought up the pastries that he still had and Corbin had the shirt wrapped around his collar. 

"That old fool is just making us pick up his errands." He snapped. 

"And there's still one left." Ruben reminded him. 

"I'm not looking for it, he can find it himself." Corbin replied. 

Ruben nodded and guessed he wouldn't either. He wasn't mad, he thought that this exercise, even though it was framed so they could do his errand work, was useful. The feeling of sensing the paranormal that normal people couldn't feel was distinct. 

He would quickly get used to it, it reminded him of what Felix said about inexperienced Ego user's leaving a trail, which is how they found them when they first fought. 

"Hey!" Corbin dragged him out of his trance and physically pulled him to the side. "Do you feel that?" 

Ruben didn't need to ask what he meant. The sensation was already crawling up his spine, thick and cloying, like oil seeping into his veins. It wasn't like dario's presence that he expected to run into conveniently. This was something else. 

The shopping district stretched before them, the lights glowed beneath the evening lights, the sidewalks packed with late-night shoppers and tourists. 

Ruben turned, just slightly to glance behind them. 

The street was frozen. 

Not in the way a crowd would pause when seeing entertainment and get their bearings. This was stillness in its purest and unnatural form. A woman mid-stride, one foot lifted, her sandal dangling from her toes. A vendor handing a paper-wrapped snack to a customer, their fingers brushing but never closing. A child with an ice cream cone, the drip suspended in midair like a glitch in reality. 

No one blinked. No one breathed. 

"Corbin." Ruben said, his voice low. 

"I see it." Corbin muttered. He didn't turn. His eyes were fixed ahead, on the department store's glass doors. "Look forward." 

Ruben did. 

Inside the scene was the same. Shoppers stood motionless between racks of clothing, their hands outstretched toward fabrics they would never touch. A cashier's smile was locked in place, her fingers poised over the register. Even the security guard near the entrance was frozen, his radio crackling with static, the only sound in the suffocating silence. 

Corbin exhaled through his nose. "It's probably a phantasm." 

They had both seen Phantasm's before, but they were weak, lurking in alleyways and some people didn't even pay attention to them. They were nothing compared to this. This was something that had carved out a pocket of the world and stolen the air from it. 

"We should call Dario," Ruben said. 

Corbin was already pulling out his phone. The screen lit up, then flickered, the signal bars vanishing as quickly as they appeared. He cursed under his breath. "No connection." 

Phantasm's mess with electricity signals the stronger they are. 

Corbin shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Second floor. Let's see what we're dealing with." 

They moved quickly, their footsteps too loud in the unnatural quiet. The escalator wasn't running, its steps were locked in place, so they just walked up them. Ruben's senses were on fire, every creak of the steps, every shift in the air, every whisper of fabric against his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless. 

The second floor was empty. 

But something was out of the ordinary. There were tons of mannequins. Dozens of them, arranged in poses that were just slightly off. A woman with her head tilted too far back, her arms outstretched as if reaching for something only she could see. A man crouched low, his fingers splayed against the floor like he was trying to push himself up but couldn't. A child sitting cross-legged, its face smooth and blank, its hands cupped as if holding an invisible offering. 

Ruben's skin prickled. 

Then his instincts screamed. 

He dropped low just as something swung at the space where his head had been, a fist, pale and seamless, moving faster than anything so stiff should be able to. Corbin reacted instantly, his own fist already pulled back to strike… 

"Wait!" Ruben grabbed his wrist. 

Corbin snarled but didn't throw the punch. "What?" 

Ruben's nose wrinkled. "I can smell him." 

The mannequin, no, the person, stood before them, frozen mid-motion. Its face was smooth, featureless, but Ruben could still smell the faint trace of sweat on its skin, the lingering scent of expensive cologne clinging to its clothes. 

Corbin's eyes widened. "They're people!" 

The realization hit them both at once. The mannequin weren't decorations. They were victims. 

Another one lunged from behind, its movements jerky, pupper-like. Ruben dodged again, his heart hammering. "They only attack when we look away!" 

Corbin cursed, spinning to face the growing circle of mannequins closing in around them. "That doesn't help, Ruben! There's a whole fucking store of them!" 

He was right. The escalator groaned behind them, more were coming. More were always coming. 

Corbin's jaw set. Then, without warning, he pivoted and drove his fist into the nearest wall. The drywall shattered under the force of his blow, dust and debris exploding outward as a gaping hole opened up to the street below. 

"Move!" he barked. 

Ruben didn't hesitate. He leapt after Corbin, the air rushing past his ears. 

And then the dragon materialized. 

It materialized beneath them in a burst of golden glitter, its fur soft and comforting, no wings to catch them but it was wide for more than the both of them. The moment Ruben's feet touched its back, something in his chest unlocked. 

It had been so long. 

The dragon's presence flooded through him, warm and familiar, like slipping into a second skin. He could feel its power thrumming beneath him, could feel the way its muscles coiled as if it was his. A part of him that he had ignored too long. 

Euphoria. Comfort. Homely. 

Below, the mannequins spilled out of the broken wall, their limbs twisting, their bodies contorting as they reached for the sky. But the moment Ruben and Corbin looked back at them, they froze, mid-lunge, mid-fall, their poses locked into something grotesque and desperate, like figures in a painting damned to forever grasp at something just out of reach. 

The street was worse. The frozen crowds had transformed, their skin taking on that same smooth, featureless sheen, their bodies posed in silent agony. They climbed over one another now, a writhing mass of mannequins, their blank faces turned upward, their hands stretching toward the dragon. 

Corbin's voice was low and grim. "We're gonna have to fight." 

Ruben exhaled, his fingers curling into the dragon's fur. 

"Then let's go." 

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